


Ravioli ravioli, your ass is fineioli

by unprecedntedsmile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, i dont even know what this is, is this even fucking real, its a ridiculous coffee shop au, thats what it is, this is just pure crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unprecedntedsmile/pseuds/unprecedntedsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Derek is pathetic and the entire universe works against him to ruin his life. Especially Stiles, who thinks pick-up lines are the way to Derek’s heart (they are).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravioli ravioli, your ass is fineioli

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, this fic is a product of my immense sickness and boredom and i honestly have no idea where it came from. I punched it out in a couple of hours and its completely unbeta'd so forgive me for any mistakes there might be but yeah, haven't written a fic in a loooooooooong time so it might be a little bit rusty but its sterek and its written a little different to how people usually write these things but hopefully you like it, thanks for reading xxxxxxxxx

~

“I have to go, I’m sorry,” He rambled, pressing quick kisses against Derek’s lips, “I have an interview in the morning and I wish I didn’t have to go because I would really love to stay here and make out with you for the rest of the night but I can’t because this interview means a lot to me and I’ve been waiting for months for this job and I can’t screw it up and – oh my god please don’t stop doing that.”

Derek smirked and ducked his head back to mouth at Stiles’ collarbone, content to nip and bite the soft fleshy skin around his neck and shoulders for as long as the younger guy would let him. Younger guy. Derek didn’t even know his name. All he knew is that he was the only person to successfully get with Derek on the basis of a cheesy and somewhat debilitating pick-up line.

It’s not even as though it were a _good_ pick up line, if there is such a thing. And usually, Derek would never go for that kind of deal, but there was something about the way this guy looked at him and the way Derek’s heart picked up when he heard his laugh, or the fact that his fingers were on his belt buckle trying desperately to undo it without breaking the kiss. It was kind of really fucking awesome. And Derek didn’t want to stop.

So, so what if they guy had picked him up with a cheesy pick-up line. It worked, didn’t it?

\---

_“Is your name Betty Crocker?”_

_Derek rolled his eyes,_ great, _he thinks,_ my life has come to a point where I’m being hit on with baked goods references.

_It had turned out to be kind of really great once he turned around though, because the guy is standing there with two beers in hand and amber eyes sparkling. A wild grin plastered across his face and hair messily strewn across his forehead. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the side’s of his mouth were quirking up in anticipation of the supposedly side-splitting punchline delivery that made his eyes almost glow golden in eagerness._

_“Because you’re making me super moist.”_

_And yeah, Derek is already fucking_ gone.

\---

So that’s how they ended up in Derek’s apartment lazily making out while watching the food network, there are beer bottles on the floor, Dorito crumbs underneath his ass, and box of pizza _crusts_ sitting on his coffee table because what even is Derek’s life anymore.

“Just – just stay a little longer, please.” Derek found himself groaning a while later as the guys hands snaked through his hair, gripping tight and pulling closer. Even though it didn’t seem like he was leaving soon, Derek made sure to fix him with what he hoped was his best puppy-eyes look for extra measure. It must have worked wonders because the man _whimpered_ and pulled Derek up to kiss him again.

Forty Five minutes later, however, and the puppy-eyes had lost their magic and the guy was standing in his doorway rambling about how he wishes he didn’t have to go and that they should hang out again soon, like _soon_ soon. And there’s a brief silence that settles over them when he’s finished where they’re just taking each other in before the man breaks it again.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“My name is Stiles, it was good to meet you, and get off on your couch. Thanks for the Doritos as well, dude, they were great.”

“Oh,” Derek nods, “No problem, see you around” he squeaks before slamming the door shut and holding onto the knob for dear, dear life. He’s fucked. So completely and utterly fucked.

**1:04am: laura help me I hooked up with a stupid rambler who loves doritos and picked me up with a betty fucking crocker pick up line help me what do I do?**

**1:06am: and he HAS MOLES**

**1:07am: EVERYHWERE**

_1:08am: Derek please, for the love of God get some sleep. Do I need to remind you that you promised me you would open tomorrow morning for me so you could do that interview?_

_1:09am: Also drink some water; you know I hate working with you when you’re hung over._

_1:09am: Actually, everyone hates working with you when you’re hung over._

_1:10am: Actually, everyone just hates you when you’re hungover, period.  Goodnight Derek. X_

\---

Derek is never drinking again.

Especially not when he has to wake up at 5 fucking am to open his sisters stupid coffee shop and then have to wait until he turns on the machines and fixes the grind before he can even actually have a coffee.

 Sometimes Derek doesn’t even wonder what hell is like because he’s pretty damn sure he’s living in it. So for the next two excruciating hours Derek does nothing except drink his overly caffeinated coffee and wish he were dead. Metaphorically, atleast.

Like, occasionally he’ll scribble a word into yesterday’s crossword or refill a cupboard or two, but for the most part, he’s got his head pressed against the counter as he wills himself to not fall asleep.

That is, until he gets a text from Laura.

_7:53am: that mscislaw guy has his interview today, 8:30. please be nice. We need more staff!_

Derek curses, as if his life could get any worse than it currently is, he has to interview some stupid teenager whose email is _awkward_turtle69@gmail.com_ and listed “mastered cheesy pick-up line delivery” as one of his achievements. Laura had thought it was hilarious, of course, but seeing as the kid is in his second year of college studying criminology and has a GPA of a 3.8, Derek had thought he was wasted potential.  

And his name was Mscislaw for God sake, he doesn’t even know how to pronounce that.

Derek was halfway through making himself his third coffee of the morning when the bell on the door chimed; he called out a gruff “morning” as he poured the foamy milk into his cup and carved a heart into the coffee in the hope of lightening his sour mood. He was still yet to properly greet the incoming customer, maybe he was being rude, but hey, he barely slept and he’s hung over as hell, give him a fucking break.

“Holy shit.”

Derek looked up then, right into the whiskey coloured eyes of _Stiles,_ and his heart skipped a couple of beats or whatever as he fumbled with the lid on his cup, “Hey –“ he leant against the counter, feigning casualness, trying his best to act like he wasn’t running on 3 coffees and 4 hours sleep, “hey – Stiles, right?”

“You never told me you worked in a coffee shop. In this coffee shop. Oh my god, you work here,” he raked his long fingers through his hair, it was significantly neater than last night’s bombshell. The poor kid looked distraught.

“Is that – a problem?

“Uh, yes? I mean – not really,” his tongue darted out to wet his lips, hands gripping onto the paperwork he had clutched in his arms for sweet mercy. “I mean, kind of, like, we – you  know – last night, oh god do you even remember? Probably not, why would you – “

“Oh my god. You’re awkward_turtle69” Derek said suddenly, everything clicking into its unfortunate place.

Stiles’ ears twinged pink and a shit-eating grin erupted onto his face as he nodded fervently, “please tell me I left the part on there about how great I am with pick-up lines? Scott kept telling me to take it off but I said nuh-uh, I don’t want to be employed by anyone that didn’t see that as a legitimate life-time achievement, Scotty, and so far you guys were the only ones who called me back with an offering, so I take my metaphorical hat off to you. Scott’s my best friend by the way, well, more of a brother, we’ve been through everything together – “

“Stiles.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Shut up.”

Suddenly, as if possessed by the fucking _devil_ , Stiles honked out a laugh. His mouth was wide open and eyes sealed shut, Derek could only stare at him in horrified confusion.

As soon as it started, it finished and Stiles promptly leant forward over the counter, forearms crossed over the wood in a way that signalled that his pre-interview nerves had left the building in a way Derek wishes he could. It was far too casual for an interviewee and potential future employee at _One Hale of a Coffee. E_ ven if they did have an atrocious pun in their name, or had dorky pop-culture trivia questions every day, or even that they wore baggy tee’s and ripped jeans to work. This hole-in-a-wall joint was voted as the number 1 coffee place in California, thank you very much, and Derek would like to uphold his standards of _finesse,_ and this gargantuan of a man could not just come in here with his lanky limbs christening the whole damn place like he had Derek’s loft. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“So are you gonna interview me now or just take me out back and have your wicked way with me again?”

Derek sets a mental reminder to himself to give Laura his two weeks leave notice so he can leave the country and never have to face Stiles ever again in his entire life because, honestly, anything else would be significantly better than whatever lay ahead of him now.

“Just wait over there,” Derek said, pointing towards a table in the corner, "I need to wait for Cora to get here anyway before I can start. Would you like a coffee, or something?”

Stiles nods and pulls out his battered wallet from his jean pocket, “just give me a large mocha with macadamia syrup and 4 sugars,” he smiled, before adding, “boss.”

“I’m not your boss – and it’s on the house,” Derek mumbled, fiddling with the sugar packets before pouring in 2 when Stiles wasn’t looking, “would you like some coffee with your sugar?”

Stiles smirked at him, “give me an extra shot then, Chief.”

Derek rolled his eyes and tamped the coffee down, refusing to lift  his eyes from the bench because he couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Stiles less he lose any small ounce of dignity he had left, afraid that he would embarrass himself in front of the kid. So he stayed silent and made Stiles’ coffee with only half the syrup and extra texture in the milk, he figures that will distract Stiles from the sugar in his drink, or well, lack thereof.

But nothing could have prepared Derek for what happened next. _Nothing._ As Stiles’ lips wrapped around the lid of the cup he let out a low groan as the liquid hit his tongue, his eyes fluttered shut and his other hand came to grip onto the counter as if he would fall to his damn knees if he didn’t have something to hold onto.

Derek was losing his fucking mind.

He stared in horror as he took another sip, letting out another groan, fingers digging into the counter and eyes flicking open, zeroing in on Derek.

Cora chose that exact moment to walk through the door, Derek sent her a look that hopefully screamed _help_ and Stiles whipped around to follow Derek’s line of sight, his ears turning a deep shade of magenta. She looked between them, eyes flicking from one to another before she strolled behind the counter, “made yourself a friend, have you Derek?” Putting emphasis on the word friend and twitching her eyebrow at her brother.

Derek says “no,” at exactly the same time Stiles says “he wishes,” and Cora shoots him a grin that will haunt him thoroughly until the day he dies.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” Derek mumbles, grabbing his computer and a pile of paperwork from the desk, “Cora this is Stiles, the one Laura wanted me to interview. Stiles, this is Cora, my younger sister.” Before they can exchange their polite hello’s Derek is pulling Stiles over to a table as far away from his sister as he can get and dumping himself into a stool, fingers raking through his hair. Stiles sat across from Derek and grinned at him expectantly as he twiddled his thumbs on the table. Wetting his lips with his tongue once more, he grabbed a straw from in front of him and slid it into his mouth, biting the ends of it and gnawing at the sides. Did this guy have some kind of oral fixation or something? Because he needs to stop doing that. Like, right now. Immediately.

“So, Stiles, what kind of experience do you have?”

They go through the typical interview questions like _how much can you work?_ And _why did you leave your last job?_ And _how did we end up sucking each other off on my couch last night?_

Because, _really,_ Derek thinks, he should have known Stiles was awkward_turtle69, he’s just that kind of guy. Plus he picked him up with _Betty Crocker._

He said he was _moist._

_And Derek liked it._

So really, in all honesty Derek kind of deserves whatever fresh hell this idiot is going to give to him today because he sunk to a new low last night and he deserves to be punished like this

But instead of listening to what Stiles is saying like the good co-owner he should be, Derek watches Stiles’ mouth as he answers. Sometimes, he’ll chew on the straw as he speaks or he’ll slick his lips up with his tongue before continuing on, and sometimes, his mouth will just hang slack and he’ll stare doe-eyed at him while Derek speaks. It’s all kind of overwhelming because Stiles has a nice mouth, a really nice mouth actually. A mouth that did dirty things to him last night and Derek can’t get the image of Stiles peering up at him through his long eyelashes out of his mind, so he shuts his laptop with just a little too much force and states blankly at Stiles for a moment.

“Were done here.”

“But I was in the middle of telling you why I got fired from my last job.”

 _Shit,_ Derek wasn’t listening, he was too busy thinking about Stiles’ eyelashes, he looks over to Cora for help but she’s busy with a customer, so it looks like he’ll have to brave this on his own. He groans and Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“Look, you’re fine. Okay?  I’ll call Laura tonight and tell her the interview went well just please –can you not mention what happened between us to anyone?”

Stiles smirks, eyes trailing down Derek’s torso and back up to his eyes, “why’s that?”

 _Because my sisters are demons sent to earth to make my life hell_ , is what he wants to say, instead he opts for “because I own this place and I’d rather not have other people knowing I sucked my employees dick.”

 “You sucked his dick? Oh Der, you do get around don’t you” Cora smirked as she picked up the empty cups from their table, shooting Stiles a sly glance.

“Twice actually,” Stiles smirked and wrapped his long arms around Derek’s shoulder, pressing his head into the crook of his neck like the little fucker he is while grinning at Cora, “he’s a trooper,” he smirked, proceeding to pat Derek on the shoulder.

Cora smirked and walked back to the counter to grab her phone, presumably to text Laura because not even a minute later, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Derek hates his life.

“Have you got a pen I could borrow?”

He nods quickly, reaching into his apron to grab a biro while regretting every life decision that ever led to him working with his sisters and sleeping with potential employees. He hands it to Stiles who promptly thanks him and grabs a napkin and begins to scrawl on it.

“Here,” he says, after a moment, standing up and holding the napkin out as he does so “I’ll see you around, hopefully.”

Derek nods and takes it, “thanks, Stiles.”

“No worries, dude.” And soon enough the bell over the door is chiming and only Cora and Derek are left in the shop. Except Cora is jumping over the counter to grab the napkin out of Derek’s hand and reading it for herself before he even has a chance to.

“Aw, Derbear, you should marry him.”

“Fuck off Cora,” he grunts, snatching the napkin back from her and reading it himself.

 

**If you were a president, you’d be Babe-Braham Lincoln.**

**– 909 684 2055**


End file.
